TOMORROW IS KIMMIE'S BIRTHDAY!!!
LOL to that
=s
21 September 2008
14 September 2008
Interlude #06
For yesterday- once everyday we'd sat,
Don't blame me again, for my heart is set.
Hasta Manana, it'll never happen before,
Viva Forever once more, no more, forever more.
VIVA FOREVER
Do you still remember how we used to be
Feeling together believe in whatever my love has said to me
Both of us were dreamers, young love in the sun
Felt like my saviour, my spirit I gave you, we'd only just begun
Hasta Manana, always be mine
Viva Forever, I'll be waiting everlasting like the sun
Live Forever for the moment, ever searching for the oneYes I still remember every whispered word
The touch of your skin, giving life from within Like a love song that I've heard
Slipping through our fingers, like the sands of time
Promises made, every memory saved Has reflections in my mind
But we're all alone, was it just a dream
Feelings untold, They will never be sold, And the secrets safe with me
01 September 2008
Characterization (August 2006)- Origins
People from my JC should still remember the Characterization story that had been written around August- September in 2006. It was a short story, around ten pages, about an unnamed boy and girl slowly advancing up the relationship ladder till the clubbing outing that had led her to break up with her ex.
And it had been a confusing story. Firstly, it was written backwards; secondly, the ending of the story lies in the beginning excerpt of the story; moreover, the normal and italicized bits were supposed to be read as two completely different stories, and ultimately there were supposed to be two hes and a she in total. Some people thought it was written all out of love (pun that phrase) by a deranged mind, some thought it was pure nonsense trying to pass off for a literature technique of sorts. Everybody said its too cheem anyway.
This is crazy, why the hell did Jesse want to write such a crazy piece of writing for?
Today I have to admit to those whom have ever read that piece of writing it's true purpose. Yes, at that point of time I had indeed utilized and manipulated various facts from my personal life and that of others to write that story (and hence the disclaimer on the top of the story). But in actual fact this story was supposed to be a 'pen test' for the bigger story to come- that is namely this story now.
I had suspended writing PWNMV2.0 in March 2005, with the disappointment of the standard of language and how others had conveniently modified my story beyond recognition. I told myself that I will come back and re-write this story one day I am matured enough for it. In the meantime, I had touched on other stories, ( Transition- a short story, Transition- an essay, Dejengski, Thoughts of a Deranged Mind etc. ) gradually the writings began to mature from the crude fragmented English in 2004.
In August 2006 I knew that I was through to the majority of my social life. Everybody I knew then had either splitted, left, or disappeared for many various reasons, and the number of MSN contacts had dropped by two-thirds. It was then when the outings were over when I began wishing to write again then. One more simple story- completely fiction, like how I had done before for nearly the past 7 years of my life. It was supposed be the prologue of PWNMV2.0- this time done in my way instead of the other way that I never wanted to be. As a result from my state of mind then, Characterization materialized.
In other words, Characterization was supposed to be the emissary for PW2NMV3.0. It could have full-blown into PW2NMV3.0 then; after all, the command of language and writting skills had been matured enough then for the story already.... if only there had been no A levels in November, enlistment that may happen in Devember, or the pain experienced then as a result of the multiple relationship failures with the many people I used to know. But it was still not the right time to ressurect the stories again; I stopped where and when it ended, left it ambugious so that it may stand alone as a love story, and went back to 'hibernation' again.
Today, now that PW2NMV3.0 is ressurected once more, it is imperative that the bulk of this story should be written to enjoin Characterization in terms of language, writing style, and even plot. Just like how a game expansion should follow on the prologue set by the original game itself- to explain it's perdecessor, to enhance it, and to compliment it. Indeed certain parts of the short story had to be re-modified to suit the new ideas introduced in the latter story, and certain details omitted for plot and tension, but in general the agenda of Characterization should be clear by now.
Attached below is an excerpt of Characterization as a standalone story, and another as an official excerpt out of PW2NMV3.0. Note the subtle differences, and yet the similarities of the two excerpts; and perhaps one day Jesse may not seem so crazy and deranged as what everybody once percieves him to be anymore.
Cheers to that. LOL
EXCERPT #01 - Characterization (the original text written in 2006)
He knew he had to come up with a really good story for coming home at 3.45 am in the morning on Sunday. He knew he really had to do quite a lot of explaining, on why he couldn't take the last train home, on why he could not come home even though he was repeatedly SMSed to do so four hours ago, on who had he gone out with, and especially on where had he gone the night before. There would be a lot of reassurance to make, a lot of convincing to do, and definitely a very good alternative story to make up to fill up the time gap between 7.30pm to 3.45am...
But he knew those didn't matter. Those explanations were easy to get by- a straight face and perhaps a sweet tongue afterwards would most probably get him thorough the interrogations later by his parents unscathed. Those mundane elaborations... merely words without meanings- He went to the library with a friend, then they went to see the Chinese New Year light-up at Chinatown, and the prime minister was there setting off fireworks, then they went to MacDonald's to chat and forgot the time, and somehow his phone was off... ; then and again, how could he explain that, to his parents, to anybody, even to himself? Of what actually happened that night? He sat there for thirty minutes in the taxi, he still could not believe what happened afterwards.
The movies, the pub, the guys at the back row in class, and the four girls in class all dressed in peek-a-boo party wear; dancing, touching and drinking throughout the night. And her, especially her, that story, and her sitting there afterwards with that gaze that only left none but a hollow and chilling impression in his heart.
They still wanted to party on after 2 in the morning, and they wanted her to continue drinking. The music had became slow, and it had been couple's night. The girls all paired out with the guys in some slow pop beat. She walked out of the dance floor, her blouse was lopsided, and a strap was out. He wanted to look some more, but somehow he daren't- he blamed himself vehemently for asking her out with the others, yet was totally unable to intervene and help. Sitting there stupidly and totally helplessly while she was made to dance song after song, drink shot after shot; finally he could no longer take it, the next time she came over, he asked her out to the promenade alone.
There they sat by the steps. She was sitting quietly and looking out at the other side of the river, and he had jammed his hands into his pockets and tried to follow suit. Somehow he just wanted to break the silence, wanted to scream out what had happened for that past two hours of hell, in behalf of her, and wished her to scream at him and slap him at the very least. He wanted to say he was sorry for what had happened and for persuading her along for what he had conceived to be an innocent birthday celebration. He didn't want her to just say shes fine and later stop talking to him altogether, he didn't want it to end that way. She was still crying a little, and he did not want to upset the situation even further. In the end, he offered her a packet of tissues.
She had finally smiled again, she turned to him, and assured him she had long been used to this kind of lifestyle. They talked some more, chatted about their past lifestyles of clubbing and book-reading. He had been amazed at the stories she had told him later- this time no longer those superficial chit-chat girl-talk conversations she had always been giving to him and the other members of the class. Many of them were personal- about her life in secondary school, about the four other girls: once simple and equally innocent and how they had ended up in today's state, on the clubs she used to go with them and the different types of guys she had met then. She told him about her ex, how they were together, playing, experiencing, and feeling for the past two years before that fateful event three days ago- she did most of the talking though, he told her later he did not have such stories to share.
She hugged him later that night- as a friend. Nevertheless, he never forgot that moment of significance afterwards.
EXCERPT #02- PW2NMV3.0 ( The clubbing outing went wrong)
What happened, Ian?
He knew he had to come up with a really good story for coming home at 3.45 am in the morning on Sunday. He knew he really had to do quite a lot of explaining, on why he couldn't take the last train home, on why he could not come home even though he was repeatedly SMS-ed to do so four hours ago, on who had he gone out with, and especially on where had he gone the night before.
And for the first time, why had he missed his favourite movie that was showing on television tonight.
There would be a lot of reassurance to make, a lot of convincing to do- he definitely had to come up with a very good alternative story to make up to fill up the time gap between 7.30pm to 3.45am. Within him he was still afraid that his parents would not approve to it, he was afraid that they might confine him at home later for returning home after midnight, but those didn't matter now.
Those explanations should be easy to get by by now. A straight face and perhaps a sweet tongue afterwards would most probably get him thorough the interrogations later by his parents unscathed- Bryan had personally coined them as ‘alternate reasoning', and he had taught him very well about those things before. It was simple- he went to the library with a friend, then they went to see the Christmas light-up at Orchard, and the prime minister was there setting off fireworks, then they went to McDonald'schat and forgot the time, and somehow his phone was off...; then and again, how could he explain that, to his parents, to anybody, even to himself? Of what actually happened that night? He sat there for thirty minutes in the taxi; he still could not believe what happened afterwards.
What actually happened, Ian?
The club, those friends of Elle- them well over eighteen, the other people present there… all dressed in peek-a-boo party wear. Dancing, touching and drinking throughout the night. And her, especially her- her clothes, that story, and her sitting there afterwards with that smile that only left nothing but a hollow and chilling impression in his heart.
They still wanted to party on after 2 in the morning, and they wanted her to continue drinking. The music had become slow, it had been couple's night, and the girls had all paired out with the guys in some slow pop beat. She walked out of the dance floor, she was dressed very skimpily- her blouse was lopsided, her skirt now dangling from her hips to reveal a little too much more than he could ever possibly imagine.... He wanted to look some more, but somehow he daren't. He blamed himself vehemently for staring at her like that while she was dancing earlier later- sitting there stupidly and while she was made to dance song after song, drink shot after shot…
Loving it, Ian… what’s wrong with you? You know it’s isn’t right, and yet you liked it…
Finally he could no longer take it; the next time she came over, he told her that he was going out to the promenade for some fresh air. He was a little surprised that she agreed and followed him; there they sat by the steps for a little while more watching the night lights across the river, and listening to the background music still booming from the club. He didn’t really know what to say then- after all, she was Elle’s friend, and apart from those routine outings they barely knew each other for the past two months. He was just starting to wonder if she wanted to go home; then she turned to him and started talking to him.
“Ian, I tell you a story tonight, okay?”
And it had been a confusing story. Firstly, it was written backwards; secondly, the ending of the story lies in the beginning excerpt of the story; moreover, the normal and italicized bits were supposed to be read as two completely different stories, and ultimately there were supposed to be two hes and a she in total. Some people thought it was written all out of love (pun that phrase) by a deranged mind, some thought it was pure nonsense trying to pass off for a literature technique of sorts. Everybody said its too cheem anyway.
This is crazy, why the hell did Jesse want to write such a crazy piece of writing for?
Today I have to admit to those whom have ever read that piece of writing it's true purpose. Yes, at that point of time I had indeed utilized and manipulated various facts from my personal life and that of others to write that story (and hence the disclaimer on the top of the story). But in actual fact this story was supposed to be a 'pen test' for the bigger story to come- that is namely this story now.
I had suspended writing PWNMV2.0 in March 2005, with the disappointment of the standard of language and how others had conveniently modified my story beyond recognition. I told myself that I will come back and re-write this story one day I am matured enough for it. In the meantime, I had touched on other stories, ( Transition- a short story, Transition- an essay, Dejengski, Thoughts of a Deranged Mind etc. ) gradually the writings began to mature from the crude fragmented English in 2004.
In August 2006 I knew that I was through to the majority of my social life. Everybody I knew then had either splitted, left, or disappeared for many various reasons, and the number of MSN contacts had dropped by two-thirds. It was then when the outings were over when I began wishing to write again then. One more simple story- completely fiction, like how I had done before for nearly the past 7 years of my life. It was supposed be the prologue of PWNMV2.0- this time done in my way instead of the other way that I never wanted to be. As a result from my state of mind then, Characterization materialized.
In other words, Characterization was supposed to be the emissary for PW2NMV3.0. It could have full-blown into PW2NMV3.0 then; after all, the command of language and writting skills had been matured enough then for the story already.... if only there had been no A levels in November, enlistment that may happen in Devember, or the pain experienced then as a result of the multiple relationship failures with the many people I used to know. But it was still not the right time to ressurect the stories again; I stopped where and when it ended, left it ambugious so that it may stand alone as a love story, and went back to 'hibernation' again.
Today, now that PW2NMV3.0 is ressurected once more, it is imperative that the bulk of this story should be written to enjoin Characterization in terms of language, writing style, and even plot. Just like how a game expansion should follow on the prologue set by the original game itself- to explain it's perdecessor, to enhance it, and to compliment it. Indeed certain parts of the short story had to be re-modified to suit the new ideas introduced in the latter story, and certain details omitted for plot and tension, but in general the agenda of Characterization should be clear by now.
Attached below is an excerpt of Characterization as a standalone story, and another as an official excerpt out of PW2NMV3.0. Note the subtle differences, and yet the similarities of the two excerpts; and perhaps one day Jesse may not seem so crazy and deranged as what everybody once percieves him to be anymore.
Cheers to that. LOL
* * *
EXCERPT #01 - Characterization (the original text written in 2006)
He knew he had to come up with a really good story for coming home at 3.45 am in the morning on Sunday. He knew he really had to do quite a lot of explaining, on why he couldn't take the last train home, on why he could not come home even though he was repeatedly SMSed to do so four hours ago, on who had he gone out with, and especially on where had he gone the night before. There would be a lot of reassurance to make, a lot of convincing to do, and definitely a very good alternative story to make up to fill up the time gap between 7.30pm to 3.45am...
But he knew those didn't matter. Those explanations were easy to get by- a straight face and perhaps a sweet tongue afterwards would most probably get him thorough the interrogations later by his parents unscathed. Those mundane elaborations... merely words without meanings- He went to the library with a friend, then they went to see the Chinese New Year light-up at Chinatown, and the prime minister was there setting off fireworks, then they went to MacDonald's to chat and forgot the time, and somehow his phone was off... ; then and again, how could he explain that, to his parents, to anybody, even to himself? Of what actually happened that night? He sat there for thirty minutes in the taxi, he still could not believe what happened afterwards.
The movies, the pub, the guys at the back row in class, and the four girls in class all dressed in peek-a-boo party wear; dancing, touching and drinking throughout the night. And her, especially her, that story, and her sitting there afterwards with that gaze that only left none but a hollow and chilling impression in his heart.
They still wanted to party on after 2 in the morning, and they wanted her to continue drinking. The music had became slow, and it had been couple's night. The girls all paired out with the guys in some slow pop beat. She walked out of the dance floor, her blouse was lopsided, and a strap was out. He wanted to look some more, but somehow he daren't- he blamed himself vehemently for asking her out with the others, yet was totally unable to intervene and help. Sitting there stupidly and totally helplessly while she was made to dance song after song, drink shot after shot; finally he could no longer take it, the next time she came over, he asked her out to the promenade alone.
There they sat by the steps. She was sitting quietly and looking out at the other side of the river, and he had jammed his hands into his pockets and tried to follow suit. Somehow he just wanted to break the silence, wanted to scream out what had happened for that past two hours of hell, in behalf of her, and wished her to scream at him and slap him at the very least. He wanted to say he was sorry for what had happened and for persuading her along for what he had conceived to be an innocent birthday celebration. He didn't want her to just say shes fine and later stop talking to him altogether, he didn't want it to end that way. She was still crying a little, and he did not want to upset the situation even further. In the end, he offered her a packet of tissues.
She had finally smiled again, she turned to him, and assured him she had long been used to this kind of lifestyle. They talked some more, chatted about their past lifestyles of clubbing and book-reading. He had been amazed at the stories she had told him later- this time no longer those superficial chit-chat girl-talk conversations she had always been giving to him and the other members of the class. Many of them were personal- about her life in secondary school, about the four other girls: once simple and equally innocent and how they had ended up in today's state, on the clubs she used to go with them and the different types of guys she had met then. She told him about her ex, how they were together, playing, experiencing, and feeling for the past two years before that fateful event three days ago- she did most of the talking though, he told her later he did not have such stories to share.
She hugged him later that night- as a friend. Nevertheless, he never forgot that moment of significance afterwards.
* * *
EXCERPT #02- PW2NMV3.0 ( The clubbing outing went wrong)
What happened, Ian?
He knew he had to come up with a really good story for coming home at 3.45 am in the morning on Sunday. He knew he really had to do quite a lot of explaining, on why he couldn't take the last train home, on why he could not come home even though he was repeatedly SMS-ed to do so four hours ago, on who had he gone out with, and especially on where had he gone the night before.
And for the first time, why had he missed his favourite movie that was showing on television tonight.
There would be a lot of reassurance to make, a lot of convincing to do- he definitely had to come up with a very good alternative story to make up to fill up the time gap between 7.30pm to 3.45am. Within him he was still afraid that his parents would not approve to it, he was afraid that they might confine him at home later for returning home after midnight, but those didn't matter now.
Those explanations should be easy to get by by now. A straight face and perhaps a sweet tongue afterwards would most probably get him thorough the interrogations later by his parents unscathed- Bryan had personally coined them as ‘alternate reasoning', and he had taught him very well about those things before. It was simple- he went to the library with a friend, then they went to see the Christmas light-up at Orchard, and the prime minister was there setting off fireworks, then they went to McDonald'schat and forgot the time, and somehow his phone was off...; then and again, how could he explain that, to his parents, to anybody, even to himself? Of what actually happened that night? He sat there for thirty minutes in the taxi; he still could not believe what happened afterwards.
What actually happened, Ian?
The club, those friends of Elle- them well over eighteen, the other people present there… all dressed in peek-a-boo party wear. Dancing, touching and drinking throughout the night. And her, especially her- her clothes, that story, and her sitting there afterwards with that smile that only left nothing but a hollow and chilling impression in his heart.
They still wanted to party on after 2 in the morning, and they wanted her to continue drinking. The music had become slow, it had been couple's night, and the girls had all paired out with the guys in some slow pop beat. She walked out of the dance floor, she was dressed very skimpily- her blouse was lopsided, her skirt now dangling from her hips to reveal a little too much more than he could ever possibly imagine.... He wanted to look some more, but somehow he daren't. He blamed himself vehemently for staring at her like that while she was dancing earlier later- sitting there stupidly and while she was made to dance song after song, drink shot after shot…
Loving it, Ian… what’s wrong with you? You know it’s isn’t right, and yet you liked it…
Finally he could no longer take it; the next time she came over, he told her that he was going out to the promenade for some fresh air. He was a little surprised that she agreed and followed him; there they sat by the steps for a little while more watching the night lights across the river, and listening to the background music still booming from the club. He didn’t really know what to say then- after all, she was Elle’s friend, and apart from those routine outings they barely knew each other for the past two months. He was just starting to wonder if she wanted to go home; then she turned to him and started talking to him.
“Ian, I tell you a story tonight, okay?”
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